


reject my advances (and desperate pleas);

by kandyrezi



Category: Mogeko Castle
Genre: Bruises, F/F, Imprisonment, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kandyrezi/pseuds/kandyrezi
Summary: it seemed to yonaka kurai as if she never saw daytime ever in her prison cell, it was beginning to get more difficult to imagine what it looked like - what sunlight would feel like on her pale, marked skin.





	reject my advances (and desperate pleas);

**Author's Note:**

> this is a rewrite of an old fic of mine.

**Yonaka’s mind** was a blank slate. She did not know what to think, to feel, to be aware of. Her mind just felt so… _devoid_.

Her hands were tied together securely in cotton rope, leaving fading red marks on her wrists – sometimes they even faded into purple bruises if tied tightly enough to nearly cut blood circulation and leave her hands trembling and numb. _It was_ _an effectively useless action though_ , Yonaka thought, she had no will in her to fight back, whether it be because she knew for a fact her blonde captor had an iron grip and sharp fangs of those resembling a cat, baring them threateningly at her **toy** , ready to leave marks much worse than those from a rope at any sign of resistance. Her captor’s demeanor was much that of a cat – her ability to look at someone with kind, false eyes – luring them towards her. Were it not for those perky feline-shaped ears, she could surely mimic the look of a cute, mere high-school girl in that red skirt and black vest with a tie she always wore. Were someone foolish enough to extend their hand in her direction, they would pull back with a missing limb for certain.

But what betrays Moge-ko’s demeanor is her excessive _eagerness_ and _need_ for **bloodlust** at any given opportunity – cats wait hidden away in secluded areas, fooling everyone around them and effectively pouncing on their prey, once said prey can no longer think about how it should have hid better as it’s being torn apart by _flesh_ , chunk by a _chunk_. Moge-ko had wasted no time in putting on a show for the ebony-haired high-school girl and her defective mogeko companion - making her intentions of wanting to rip open both of their inside organs and turning them upside out _very_ clear and effectively giving her prey just enough time to run, barely making it out alive.

(of course, she should have anticipated the threat wouldn’t just _stop_ chasing. no, it wouldn’t end there.)

Yonaka’s school uniform was ripped apart, shirt torn off and her red patterned skirt tossed away somewhere. _Bruises_ on her body all over - blooming in various colors – which her captor often reflects are her favorite ones to look at and admire. More so than the hickeys, bloody nailmarks, and uncomfortable dried stickiness on her bare inner thighs. Her dark hair was a complete mess, and all she could do was lie there, not having the strength to move.

It hurt so much - she’d felt only physical pain the first few times she’d gone through this. Then came the emotional pain from the whispers of _adoration_ and false love confessions, which made her want to close her eyes and pretend it was her brother saying them to her, just like he had when they were younger, but these particular words were nothing but _lies_. Her mental pain came last, only a little while ago, when she was slowly beginning to lose all hope.

It was nearly completely dark in the room, or rather, prison cell, she was in. Only possible light illuminating from the square-shaped window behind bars, yet it still only shined the light of the full moon. It seemed to the high-school girl as if she never even saw daytime ever in her prison cell, it was beginning to get more difficult to imagine what it looked like - what _sunlight_ would feel like on her pale, marked skin. The cold, stone floor below her bare legs occasionally prickled at her skin, but grew to not mind it so much anymore.

Ever since she got into this _god forsaken_ castle, it was clear she was never meant to escape. There were various ways this could have gone, but this was absolute torture she’s ever felt in her life. Her tormentor, the psychopathic blonde haired girl, who disguised herself behind a mask of a cute feline, knew no lines to this.

Nearly every day, she would come into her “room” and chirp with a childish greeting, reflecting her personality quite well.

“Good morning, Yonaka-tan~! Are you feeling fine? I sure am.”

Yonaka couldn’t tell if it was morning – the full moon outside was deceptive, the false words of comfort were _deceptive_ , the blonde’s demeanor was _**deceptive**_. More often than not, the high-school girl wouldn’t have liked what was to come next. She knew she was used, toyed with, dirty, and with almost no sanity left in her. She just let it all happen to her, no means of trying to fight back (she didn’t even stand a change). It’s been far too long, her past memories had nearly completely faded. She accepted her fate long ago, even if she detested it, wished for nothing more than for it all to end.

The cat would then eventually bore of playing with its prey no longer struggling to get away, laying half-dead on the cold surface, and finish it off with a killing blow, moving on to another target.

Yonaka wondered if it was only a matter of time for her as well, yet Moge-ko had shown no signs of being tired from playing with the same toy over, and over again. There was no good end result that would come from either outcomes, even if at that moment, she didn’t fear anything.

Yonaka could feel the psychopathic female’s soft yet with sharp crimson fingernails trace across her cheek, the other hand holding her face. Her knee was pressed firmly in between her legs, causing the other to quiver at the sensation, events from their previous heated session still fresh in her mind. She could practically feel the awful grin on the other’s face as she whispers the word “ **mine** ”. The braided girl hardly feels anything, she’s probably not supposed to, as toys often do not, no matter what kind.

Because that’s all she was.

A toy.


End file.
